Celta Thursady: Antenn Moss Blackthorn and Tiana Mugwort as I visualize them

Celta Thursday: Heart Change: After consummation scene:

Celta Thursday: Heart Change: After consummation scene:

A few minutes later her ears stopped ringing enough to hear his ragged breathing. She opened her eyes to see the moonslit room of gray and silver shadows and night and Cratag's sharp eyes were closed, his smile that of a man savoring an experience. Her arms clamped around him tight, she wanted to keep this experience in her memory always, too. He didn't seem to notice the extra pressure, but that was fine. Her arms encompassed all she needed tonight.

"Wonderful," she murmured and liked the low, throaty sound of her voice.

He stiffened. "I'm too heavy."

"No." She paused, was he withdrawing again as he had earlier in the day? She wouldn't ask and spoil the moment. Perhaps she'd been imagining it. He'd been worried about Laev Hawthorn, and the last few days had been packed with change for Cratag, too. "No," she repeated.

"I'm glad you're here, that we're together here." Finally.

"If you're glad, I'm glad," he said gruffly, then added as he began removing himself gently from her with long stretching motions. "I am damn near ecstatic. Was – was ecstatic."

She chuckled, reached out and let her fingers trail down his thigh from hip to knee. "There's a washroom..." but he'd already headed there. Of course he would remember the layout of the house, he'd been through it often enough with his walks. Grinning, she thought she'd given him an excellent alternative for all those walks.

Stretching herself, she couldn't recall feeling quite as good as she did now for a long time. Longer than a long time, years, eons, her whole life. The man was a fabulous lover.

Before she knew it, he was back, and to her disappointment, dressed. His face was in shadows, but he draped her robe around her. "Sorry, for the tear, and I can't mend–"

But she'd already repaired the rips, though had nearly been sentimental and brain-softened-by-sex enough to let them be.

"Done, then," he said, and she didn't know what he meant. Whether she was finished weaving the fabric back together with Flair, or they were done with sex...surely not done with more? She refused to think so,
refused to let him think so. "Done? Oh, no, we aren't."

He smiled slowly then and she returned it. Offering his hand, he said. "Let's go upstairs then, to bed." He hesitated, then said deliberately, "Your bed."

"Oh, yes."

Finished with Ghost Killer! And editor thinks it's Awesome!

So, yeah, I'm chuffed my quick deadlines are over. Writing 5 books in 1.5 years, none of them under 85K (the average Heart book is 105K, and so were Ghost Seer and Ghost Layer despite my wish to make them shorter, but Ghost Killer came in at 85K+ because I didn't add another subplot) was Brutal. And two of those five books I seriously revised.

I may post here more often, I DO post on Facebook quite often, but I understand a lot of people don't care for that.

Anyway, I wanted a new wallet calendar (I usually get them for Heart books before I go to Romance Writers of America), and discovered if I wanted them for the Rocky Mtn Fiction Writers Colorado Gold in Sept, that I had to do them yesterday. So they were done yesterday.

Remember, these books are in mass market paperback.

Celta Thursday, original end to Chapter 13, Heart Change.

Celta Thursday, original end to Chapter 13, Heart Change. Some remains in the book, some is different.

The morning of lessons on architecture was blessedly broken by a scry from Laev. Cratag excused himself to take the call. He'd been interested enough when the Residence had talked and shown holos of the construction and development of itself, D'Marigold Residence. But after that it had begun going through each FirstFamily Residence, the history of the Earthen place the thing was modeled after, and the Families, and Cratag had gotten bored. He knew all he needed to about the FirstFamilies – who were T'Hawthorn's allies, enemies and neutral.

Which Families had any smoldering ill-feelings that might explode into a feud and lead to civil unrest.

He'd have liked to have learned a little more about T'Hawthorn Residence, but at the rate the lecture was going, that would show up a few days from now.

So he slipped away from the downstairs library to his suite and took Laev's scry, with more than one reason for gratitude. The Hawthorn colors of purple and gold, along with a slight tinge of green light, pulsed through the room. Laev's colors.

He strode to the bowl. "Cratag here."

The water droplets above the bowl showed Laev's smiling face, but there was a hint of trials undergone and survived in the backs of his eyes. Another exhalation of relief from Cratag. "You look good, Laev."

Laev stood straighter, his smile brightened, as if Cratag couldn't have said anything more complimentary. Cratag thought he felt – no, did feel – a wave of satisfaction from the seventeen year old. "My first fugue went well." His voice was slightly deeper, more resonant, from emotional storms. "I have more Flair than ever and I think the Hawthorn talent for business will be confirmed." He frowned a little and a distant look came to his eyes. "I think...I think I understand more of the web of the alliances that FatherSire has made."

Then a flashing smile with more warmth than Cratag had ever seen from T'Hawthorn. "And I did a few fighting forms and I believe I'm more flexible, have more strength, even than I did before."

A seventeen year old young man was plenty flexible. Cratag eyed Laev. There did seemed to be some sort of almost colorless waves around the young man. Cratag thought it was his own meager Flair that showed him that. "Could be," he said. "Congratulations on reaching your manhood, Laev HawthornHeir."

Laev beamed. "There will be a huge celebration later." He frowned a little, nodded decisively. "When you're home again. It wouldn't be the same without you."

Cratag's heart squeezed. "Thank you."

Rolling his shoulders, Laev said, "I miss our workouts already. May I have your permission to come there and train with you? FatherSire has given his permission."

Even more emotion choked Cratag. This was a man who would not forget him, who would value him as a part of the Family.

"Of course. Will MidAfternoon Bell work for you? That's when my sessions are scheduled. We run on set schedules here."

Laev raised his brows. "I wouldn't have thought D'Marigold – ah, it's the little one, Avellana."

"Yes." Then Cratag recalled what Signet had said about Laev perhaps triggering Avellana's Passage. He'd consult with Signet, but he wanted to see – to hug the man who had been his younger brother.

While he was considering this, a masculine gleam came to Laev's eye. "And Cratag, I think, I really think that I connected with my HeartMate!"

That admission tangled Cratag's emotions. Pride that the youngster was growing up and at his achievements, his potential. But also a sharp envy for such a love. He forced a smile. "Come this afternoon."

"I will." Laev tilted his head, grinned. "T'Hawthorn Residence has told me that I only have a few more minutes in my morning break, and that I should eat. Since I'm hungry...."

"See you later," Cratag said gruffly and watched the young man nod as he ended the scry.

Cratag rubbed his head, feeling more helpless than he had in a long time. He didn't know, exactly, what he was doing here, no solid mission. He didn't understand – in his gut – great Flair or Passage or HeartMates.

The place was beautiful but strange, the woman beautiful and strangely compelling.
"Is everything all right with young HawthornHeir? I knew you were worried about his Passage," the very woman Cratag was thinking about said, standing at the threshold of his sitting room. Had he closed the door? He didn't recall it latching, and gravity, or the Residence, might have swung it open.

"Yes, all is well." He let a breath out slowly. "His Passage is coming along smoothly." Cratag hesitated.

"You'd like him to visit here," Signet said.

"Yes, MidAfternoon Bell."

She nodded. "Avellana's Flair seems relatively stable, and my own catalyst Flair doesn't appear to be affecting her yet." Signet raised her brows at him.

Cratag nodded. "Yes, I think I'm being affected by you – by your Flair." Definitely by her and the attraction that vibrated between them. He went on, "My senses seem to be becoming sharper, and my Flair stronger in general." He shrugged. "I don't think even with all the catalyst nature of your Flair my own will increase to much more."

"Maybe not." She smiled at him and knots in his muscles that he hadn't known he'd had untangled. "I'm going to take Avellana to the craft room now." There was a slight lift in her voice as if asking if he'd join them.

"I need to look around the Residence again." Find a room suitable for sparring.
She spread her hands. "Be at home."

But when she left Cratag admitted that he wasn't quite sure who or where or what "home" was.

Belated Celta Thursday!

I'm so sorry, folks. I've been housesitting and not with my regular computer. Here's a belated Celta Thursday.

Celta Thursday: Cuts from Heart and Sword in the Hearts and Swords Collection:

"We’re lost," Kelse, the Captain just revived from the cryonics tube said.
"And we’re all dying. The crew doesn’t want to do their prescribed jobs. The ship is only automated to a certain extent," said Chloe, his exec who'd awakened him.
Something floated in Kelse’s memory, something about artificial intelligence and Nuada’s Sword, but it vanished with Chloe’s next words.
****
"The crew needs purpose," Chloe said.
"Who are our best astronavigators, astronomers?" Kelse asked.
"That’s the problem, we didn’t have many, maybe six. Julianna Ambroz is the best and she’s done everything she can. She’s currently the Captain of Arianrhod’s Wheel. Your wife, Fern, assisted our original astronomer...."
"I’m not having Fern awakened until this is all over." One way or the other. She could die in her sleep.
The thought that she’d die, they’d never have that future they fought for, stabbed him, made him wild inside, panic slid through his nerves and he grabbed is cup with white-knuckled force. He could not let that out. He’d known fear and panic and loss before and withstood it.